


Gold and Silver

by Annessarose



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Asexual Din Djarin, Asexual Luke Skywalker, Asexual Relationship, DINLUKE, Dark Leia Organa, Dark Luke Skywalker, Gen, Mand'alor (Star Wars), Slow Burn, mand'alor din djarin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28685829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annessarose/pseuds/Annessarose
Summary: There are three things the Emperors Skywalker know about the Mand'alor: that his people adore him, that he has no interest in joining the New Empire, and that his hands are dripping with Mandalorian blood.In a post-ROTJ AU where Luke and Leia Fell and became the rulers of the New Empire, Luke heads to Mandalore to negotiate with a Din Djarin who was raised by a sect of Mandalorians who trained him for one purpose: to bring back the old ways to Mandalore by becoming its ruler.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda & Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin & Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker, Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 134
Collections: New SW Canon Server Works





	Gold and Silver

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to the New SW Canon server for dragging me down this rabbit hole of dinluke. In fact, this entire fic is dedicated to you lovely people in the server.
> 
> Anyhow, this is an unfinished idea that popped into my head. I don't really know if I'm going to go anywhere with this; it's up for adoption if any of you would like to roll with it! This is more of a prompt-fic than like a story-fic. 
> 
> As for my other fics, I have 7k words written for Disconnected Conduit... it'll be out at some point this month, probably. I do update my profile AND my tumblr often, so if you're itching for updates, just check there.

**I.**

The first thing Din notices about the Emperor of the Galaxy is his eyes. They’re a simmering gold, glowing with the colour of power and wealth and royalty. 

“ _Mand’alor,_ ” the Emperor says, inclining his head. 

“Emperor Skywalker,” he says, giving the same greeting in return. 

He knows why the emperor is here. Mandalore had not yet bowed to the Empire, choosing instead to stand alone. 

He’d heard rumors. There were different songs about Emperor Skywalker, depending on who you asked; some said the emperor was beautiful and benevolent, and some would swoon over the blonde of his sun-kissed hair and the gentle smile on his face. Others said the emperor was cruel, and that the sharp crimson of his weapon was merciless in its cry for blood.

He listens to none of those, and instead decides to see for himself. 

**II.**

There are three things Emperor Skywalker knows about the Mand’alor.

One: His people love him. In the Force, there is not even a hint of discontent in the courts of Mandalore. They are loyal to their leader, and to him alone.

Two: His only loyalty is to his people. Galactic matters concern him not; he has turned away both rebel and empire alike in their efforts to draw him to their side. Whispers of wealth on other planets do not sway him; neither do pleas for help. Nothing matters more than Mandalore.

Three: His hands are dripping with Mandalorian blood.

**III.**

Their conversation is light, but Din soon finds that they have something in common. 

“I didn’t ask for this,” Skywalker says. The moonlight shines on his features, showing off the softness of his smile and the beautiful gold of his eyes. His smile sharpens, and Din can’t help but think of how handsome he looks then; all sharpness and arrogance and danger. “But when the chance came to help my people, how could I say no?”

Din thinks of how he’d gotten here; of how the warm the blood of the previous Mand’alor felt on his hands and how heavy the Darksaber feels on his belt, and he tilts his head. 

“I understand,” he tells the Emperor.

**IV.**

Here’s how it happened to Luke: 

He was twenty-two years old, desperate, and terrified. His father stood behind him; and on his iron throne, Palpatine sat calmly, looking every inch like a frail old man who could barely move, much less command galaxies. As Palpatine taunted him, Luke tensed. 

His thoughts had turned to Leia, and Vader’s vocoder had hitched. 

“Sister,” Father had said. “You have a sister.”

Palpatine had laughed, and a trickle of his true power had been allowed to escape, giving Luke a glimpse of the true monster that lay beneath the thin veneer of fragility, and he’d known that he needed to act fast. 

He didn’t hesitate. He acted before he could even think of it. He fell into the Force and pulled on his anger, his hatred. He closed his fist, and Palpatine died on his throne. 

And it felt so _good._

**V.**

Din knows the rumors. Though Mandalore had long isolated itself from the rest of the galaxy following his rule, he still made sure that his people knew what was happening in the galaxy. It was simple prudence; nothing more. 

An Emperor and an Empress. Heroes of the Rebellion, and the children of the Empire. With his dying breath, Vader had broadcast a message across the galaxy, naming his children as his heirs. The galaxy had lived in an uneasy peace for six months following the death of Darth Vader and Emperor Palpatine on the Second Death Star. 

Then the coup - or, more accurately, the _attempted_ coup where Imperial remnants and rebel leaders had tried to kill the Skywalker twins had happened live on the HoloNews - and the galaxy had fragmented again. Only this time, war had only lasted for another six months before the Emperor and Empress consolidated their power. 

Din hadn’t noticed at the time. He’d been fighting his own war. When the time had come and the Skywalkers had declared themselves the new rulers of a unified Empire, Din had been on Mandalore, and he’d claimed the Darksaber as his own. 

**VI.**

“Does he seem receptive?”

The Empress’ voice is nothing like that of the former Princess Organa. It’s cool, clipped, and sharp; combined with the subtle annoyance that murmurs along her telepathic link with her twin, the Emperor is reminded of how much they’ve changed since ascending to the throne. 

“Nothing entices him,” Luke tells her. “I don’t think he’s interested.” 

“A pity,” Leia sighs. “And it wouldn’t do for us to force him to cooperate.”

Luke dips his head in agreement. “The people wouldn’t stand for it.” 

A lot changed since their ascension to their throne. Their morals. Their methods. But not their names. Luke thought the practice of discarding one’s old name was pretentious; and Leia agreed with him. They’d kept their names, because once they’d embraced the true power that lay within them, they felt more like themselves than they ever had. 

(And it’s easier to pretend that they’re doing the right thing. They didn’t take Sith names, because they aren’t evil. They can’t be. The others just don’t _understand._ )

Leia’s head tilts. The corners of her lips curl into a cold smile. “Don’t make him _hate_ us,” she coos. Her eyes sparkle with the look of a manipulator plotting. “Make him join us out of love. Make him love _you._ ”

**VII.**

The negotiations continue fruitlessly onwards for another three days, but Din can tell they’re all for show. Anything offered by the Emperor is turned away. That is, until one day, Emperor Skywalker stiffens, and a few seconds later, Grogu peeks his head into the room. 

_Patu,_ Grogu mumbles, and Din heaves a sigh. 

“Grogu,” he chides. “We don’t interrupt meetings.”

He turns his head to apologize to the Emperor, but Skywalker is staring at Grogu, a strange expression on his face.

“Grogu?” Skywalker asks, voice carefully neutral. 

The kid’s head jerks to look at Skywalker. Grogu shrinks back, eyes wide, and he whimpers. Din’s stomach clenches at the sound, and he reaches out, carrying Grogu onto his lap. 

“A Foundling,” Din says with nonchalance, but from the way Skywalker looks at him, he’s sure he can hear what’s unsaid. 

_My foundling. My son._

But there’s something else. The way Grogu is looking at Skywalker - with fear and apprehension and _recognition_ \- makes a fierce protectiveness rear inside Din. 

“This meeting is over,” he says abruptly, and he stands to take Grogu to his room. 

Skywalker dips his head. “As you wish, _Mand’alor._ ”

**VIII.**

The Mand’alor finds Luke in his quarters that evening. “Grogu recognized you,” he says.

A thin smile appears on Luke’s face. “I don’t think he recognized _me,”_ he confesses. He stands, noting how the Force murmurs with a weary apprehension around the Mand’alor, whose hand twitches towards the Darksaber. “I’ve been told I look a lot like my father.”

The expected reaction doesn’t come. The Mand’alor doesn’t stiffen; the Force around him only shifts into a mild understanding.

“Your father,” he repeats.

“Most people aren’t happy when I remind them of my relationship to him.”

The Mand’alor shrugs. “It doesn’t concern Mandalore anymore.” 

There’s a part of Luke that’s in awe. Most of the people in the New Empire tend to greet him with deference and fear; and usually, at the mention of Vader, they tend to cower. But not the Mand’alor. Instead, he stands with nonchalance, exuding a quiet confidence of a man who has long ago mastered his fear and learned to place his priorities above it. 

And that’s another thing Luke can’t help but appreciate. Most of the governors he’s met with have turned into babbling wrecks. But the Mand’alor is a man of few words, and Luke can’t help but feel drawn in every time he speaks. 

Then his thoughts turn to the child. Grogu’s appearance was unexpected, but not unwelcome.

“I know the Empire can’t offer you much,” Luke says. “But there’s something _I_ have to offer.”

The Mand’alor doesn’t move. (He rarely does.)

“Grogu is strong in the Force, but talent without training is nothing,” Luke continues. “I can train the foundling.”

Outwardly, the Mand’alor shows no signs of emotion. Not a single muscle twitches; if Luke had been a lesser man, he would have been unnerved, sure that he was being scrutinized and stared down. But he isn’t. In the Force, a jumble of emotions leaps out - apprehension, hope, wariness - and Luke pushes forward. 

"In return," he says, "all I ask is that you allow me to remain on this planet to better understand your people. Perhaps if I learn more from experience, I can understand what the New Empire can offer your planet to help us both."

The Mand'alor's helmet moves a fraction. He’s considering it, Luke can tell, but he’s still unconvinced. 

Then he asks, “Did your father storm the Jedi Temple when the Empire rose to power?”

Luke blinks. This sort of information isn’t readily available; in fact, the only reason Luke knows about it is because he’d heard it firsthand from the ghost of old Ben. “He did,” Luke offers. He’s not sure how it relates - maybe Grogu had a vision of the unmasked Vader? The child is certainly powerful enough to have such a vision, after all. 

The Mand’alor doesn’t clarify. Instead, his head tilts up a fraction, and Luke senses his resolve gathering in the Force. “I’ll take the deal,” he says, sounding in that moment very much like a bounty hunter and not at all like the leader of the planet, “But I’m going to be there when you train the kid.”

It’s a start. 

“Alright,” Luke tells him, and he finds that there’s a part of him that’s pleased at this caveat.

**IX.**

When Grogu sees Emperor Skywalker again, he whimpers, pulling his face behind Din’s cape to hide. Din doesn’t let him, of course. “C’mon, kid,” he says encouragingly. “Grogu. I’m right here. It’s okay.”

Hesitantly, Grogu peeks from over the cape, and takes a quick look at Skywalker before cuddling back into Din’s cape, shivering with fright. 

Din sighs. He pats Grogu on the back, trying to soothe the kid. “He’s here to help you. He’s not going to hurt us, okay? He’s nice.”

 _Patu,_ Grogu mumbles again. 

There’s a gentle look on Emperor Skywalker’s face as he approaches slowly. He kneels, palms held outward in a sign of peace. “Grogu, I’m not my father,” he says softly. “I’m not _him.”_

Din pretends not to hear how the Emperor’s voice hitched ever so slightly when he said that. 

Slowly, Grogu peeks from over Din’s cape again, watching Skywalker with a wariness that makes Din’s chest feel a little tight. 

_Tu_ , Grogu says hesitantly, spitting out a handful of gibberish before slowly moving away from Din’s cape. 

“It’s alright,” Emperor Skywalker says, and for a moment, Din marvels at how he still looks incredibly young. A gentle smile, genuine and inviting, spreads across Skywalker’s face. “My name’s Luke. It’s alright - I won’t hurt you.”

He reaches out a hand.

Grogu reaches back.

**X.**

An assassin tries to take Luke the next day. 

It wasn’t a bother, really. Luke hadn’t really intended to do much about it; he’d sensed the presence, and he’d mulled it over, wondering if he should interrogate the assassin or just snap their neck with the Force and let the Mandalorian forces take care of her later, especially since he was walking around the gardens with Grogu and the Mand’alor. He didn’t even find it in himself to be angry; just annoyed, and a touch amused. 

Then his senses had pulsed, and a quarter-second later, the assassin was being dragged forward, tangled in the whipcord thrown from the Mand’alor’s arm. 

_Stang._ Luke finds himself rather impressed; for a non-Force sensitive to be so attuned to his surroundings and so _fast_ definitely peaks his interest in the Mand’alor even more. What’s more, the Mand’alor is normally so _still;_ because of this, every time he moves, it’s with deliberation, and Luke can’t help but notice it. 

“A slugthrower?” The Mand’alor asks, voice deadly, and Luke finds himself in equal parts annoyed with the assassin and drawn to the Mand’alor’s voice. 

The assassin - a male Zabrak - spits at Luke’s feet, and refuses to say anything. 

“A little-known counter to lightsabers,” Luke muses, and he gazes down at the assassin. It’d be so easy to break through his shields and shred his mind - but there’s a part of him that’s curious as to how the Mand’alor will handle it. And there’s an easy way to do that. “It’s a cheap model, too - if it had gone haywire, it might’ve hit Grogu.” 

The Force around the Mand’alor darkens. He snarls, anger leaking into his voice. “Are there any more of you?”

The assassin holds his silence. Behind them, several other Mandalorians keep watch, observing but not interfering with their ruler’s business. 

The Mand’alor sighs, addressing Luke. “Take the kid, will you?”

Luke dips his head. “Of course.”

Then the Mand’alor reaches for his belt, pulling out a vibroblade, and Luke can’t help but find it incredibly amusing that Grogu begins watching in earnest. 

The Zabrak doesn’t last for two minutes before he breaks. “There was someone on the inside,” he confesses, voice hoarse from screaming, “Please, please, no more-”

“You can tell when someone’s lying, can’t you?” The Mand’alor asks, and Luke realizes he’s talking to him. 

“I can,” he replies. “He’s telling the truth.”

The Mand’alor hums. “Then I guess we’ll have to make another example out of them.” 

Luke can’t help it - he laughs, loud and bright. Before coming to Mandalore, he’d been wary of its ruler - but now that he’s here, he’s finding that he _enjoys_ the man’s company, because it’s so karking _interesting_ to be around him. “Impressive, _Mand’alor,”_ he says, and he means it. 

Though Luke can’t see it, he can sense the tight grin under the Mand’alor’s helmet, and he smiles in return. 

**Author's Note:**

> Update (March 3):   
> This fic is open to adoption! It's more of a prompt-fic than anything. All I ask is that you fulfill these two requirements:  
> (1) Please credit me if you're running with this!  
> (2) This is an ace!dinluke AU. Please don't take this fic and then turn it into a PWP. Ace representation is already next to nothing in media as is. I ask that you respect this when running with this.


End file.
